of Master Meadow Mouse Mr. Frog bade him a hearty good morning in a deep voice which was vastly different from the tiny squeak of the small person on the bank.

"You've come for a swim—haven't you?" said Ferdinand Frog.

Master Meadow Mouse admitted that he had intended to swim. But he explained that the water looked wetter than usual and he thought he'd wait till another day. "Besides," he added, "the sun has gone under a cloud and my suit wouldn't dry quickly enough."

"Come right in and have your swim!" Mr. Frog urged him. "You can change your clothes as soon as you get home."

"Oh, no—I can't," said Master Meadow Mouse.

"Why not?" Mr. Frog asked him.

"Because I haven't any more!"

"Now, that's a pity," Ferdinand Frog told him. "A handsome youngster like you ought to have a best suit to wear on special occasions."

Master Meadow Mouse looked interested.

"I'd like a nice new suit," he replied. "But where am I going to get it?"

"You've come to the right place!" Mr. Frog cried. "Maybe you didn't know that I'm a tailor. I'll make you a new suit myself!"

"That's very kind of you," said Master Meadow Mouse a bit doubtfully. "But I don't know how I could pay you."

The tailor laughed merrily.

"Don't you worry about that!" he exclaimed. "I'll get my pay somehow. And now you must come to my shop at once. I want to take your measure."

Mr. Meadow Mouse shook his head.

"No!" he told Mr. Frog. "I'm not going to your shop. I'm not going a single step nearer to you than I am now. I've taken your measure already, Mr. Frog. I know your game. And you can't catch me that way."

For once Ferdinand Frog forgot to laugh. He was so surprised that his mouth fell wide open as he stared at Master Meadow Mouse.

He had an enormous mouth. Master Meadow Mouse shivered slightly as he looked down Mr. Frog's throat.

The tailor closed his mouth almost immediately. For a huge pickerel came nosing among the lily pads. And spying Mr. Frog, he at once darted towards him.

Mr. Frog swam off in great haste.

"That Pickerel person," said Mr. Meadow Mouse aloud, "means to take Mr. Frog's measure if he can."

But after haying time the meadow was a different place. There was no cover over Master Meadow Mouse's paths. He had to be watchful all the time, because Henry Hawk had an unpleasant habit of sailing high up in the sky and dropping down like lightning when he saw anybody like Master Meadow Mouse stirring.

Old Mr. Crow continued to journey daily between the cornfield and the woods. But Master Meadow Mouse paid little heed to him. He believed Mr. Crow to be harmless, so long as he didn't catch small folk in the cornfield. The old gentleman was very touchy about corn. He flew into a rage when anybody but himself ate even one kernel.

Though Master Meadow Mouse would have liked a taste of corn as much as anybody else, he was careful to keep away from the cornfield in the daytime. He didn't wish to bring down Mr. Crow's wrath upon his small head.

"Never let Mr. Crow catch you taking any corn!" Mrs. Meadow Mouse had told her son during one of the daily lessons that she gave him. "If you must have corn, wait until after sunset. Mr. Crow goes to bed early."

Master Meadow Mouse ran plump into old Mr. Crow

Now, it happened that just before haying time Mrs. Meadow Mouse had stopped giving her son lessons. She said that she had told him everything she knew. She had told him everything at least a hundred times. And she declared that if he hadn't learned what he needed to know, he never would.

Mrs. Meadow Mouse, however, had forgotten one thing—one very important thing. There was a little trick of old Mr. Crow's that she had never mentioned to her son.

So it wasn't his fault that he was caught unawares one day, soon after Farmer Green cut the grass in the meadow.

Master Meadow Mouse was tripping homewards one day, after a little excursion. He was traveling fast, for he felt, amidst the short stubble, as if all the world were watching him. And he kept a sharp eye cocked upwards at the sky, lest Henry Hawk should surprise him. Besides, he had heard the boom of a bittern that morning. And the day before he had seen a butcher-bird skimming low over the meadow.

Those two, he knew, were every bit as dangerous as Henry Hawk.

You see, Master Meadow Mouse had learned to expect birds to descend upon him from the air. It had never occurred to him that a bird would lurk on the ground, in wait for him. So he had a sudden fright, almost at his doorway, when he ran plump upon a big black person standing behind a knoll.

It was old Mr. Crow. And Master Meadow Mouse thought he had an odd glitter in his snapping eyes.

"I—I haven't been taking any corn," Master Meadow Mouse stammered.

If the hole leading to his home hadn't been close at hand there's no telling what would have happened to him. Anyhow, just as Mr. Crow lunged at him, with a wild flapping of his broad wings, Master Meadow Mouse slipped to one side and whisked through his doorway.

Old Mr. Crow coughed hoarsely.

"What's your hurry?" he cried. "I've been waiting around here for you for a long while. Can't you spend a few moments of your valuable time with me!"

Now, it was true that the old gentleman had been lingering in the neighborhood. The corn wasn't quite ripe enough to suit him. So he had decided to go a-mousing that morning.

His way of hunting, however, was not like that of other birds. Mr. Crow chose to do his hunting afoot. He was too wise to waste any effort looking for mice when the grass was high. But after haying he had often gone a-mousing in years past. And he had found the sport to be quite worth while. Stalking about the close cropped meadow he had surprised many distant cousins of